The horse is dead. Long live the horse.
Just a quick and informal poll regarding Bratz. Three positions (pick the one that best describes your opinion):
(a la DYL)
So what I'm wondering is this: why is it that a taste of something is not complete until said something is swallowed? F'rinstance, why isn't my taste for coffee mud pie satisfied by merely rolling the pie around my tongue and simply spitting it out to make room for the next bite?
Obviously this would save everyone tons of worry when it comes to dieting. What? You're going crazy on Atkins? Here, chew on this gorgeous hunk of sourdough for a few minutes, but don't worry, your Atkins is preserved as you will not be ingesting any additional carbs. Worried about metabolizing that luscious chozizo/egg/hash brown burrito? Never fear! Simply enjoy the taste without swallowing!
Alas. Such is not the case. But why??
One of writers' favourite things to do is write helpful guidelines to assist burgeoning young auteurs in their quest to write more good than they did before. In "One Simple Rule for Improving Your Writing," Lori Mortimer critiques such a list of guidelines, written by John Scalzi. While both articles have some good points, Mortimer in pointing out some of Scalzi's missteps commits her own errors.
I'll focus on two things, cliches of "good writing" actually: 1) use the active voice and 2) use of simple, strong verbs.
1) Playa-Hatin' on the Passive Voice
This is one of those common rules to good writing that makes it into every guide—so much so that high school English teachers will even go so far as you students down for their use of the passive voice. To quote Ms. Mortimer:
Now I'm going to quibble here. Better to say that both the active and passive voices have their place in writing. Sometimes the passive voice is the best way to get your point across, while at other times the active voice needs to shine. It's a poor writer who enslaves himself to rules (especially those more unnecessary than believed).
2) Simple, Strong Verbs?
Again, quoting from Mortimer:
Honestly, this rule is probably only good for certain ne'er-looked-upon-kindly genres of literature that involve either hard-boiled gumshoes or sundered bodices. In most cases, you'll be torpedoing your piece by accomplishing what we call in the writing world, "overdoing it." In reality, her examples seem more like the cliched dialogue of silver age comics than anything that people would actually appreciate reading.
Two Rules from The Dane
1) Come to know intimately the rules of grammar in several of their opposing varieties. Then abandon them judiciously with verve and splendor. Nobody cares if your sentence forms a complete sentence or merely a fragment—if you do so with talent and moxie. No, really. Nobody cares how the rules pan out if you write well enough so that they won't care. A good writer will not be enslaved by the rules that would threaten his work; neither will he make his flaunting of the rules immediately apparent to his audience. Unless he wants to.
2) Never emulate any author. Especially not your favourites. Read extensively, admire the works of others, take note of their style, and observe their plotting, characterization and turn of phrase. But never emulate them—for you will fail and come off as little better than a cheap rip off. Your words must be your own.
Don't try to be Chandler. Don't try to be Tolkien. Don't try to be Palahnuik, Lewis, Faulkner, or Orson Scott Card. The world already has them. Give them you.
You are communicating from yourself. Another author's style will not suit your words nearly so well as your own will. If you cannot muster the confidence to write on your own, you will never be a worthwhile writer.
Reading this reminded me of a question I had. You know that cliche from film, television, and literature? That contrivance whereby story is forwarded by a protagonist standing before a grave and speaking to a dead father/mother/lover. Ostensibly this is in order that said protagonist can receive comfort—either from simply stating one's fears or circumstance or from the helpful word of a bystander who offers real advice to this poor deluded soul who seeks counsel from the dead. Of course we know that the work of fiction we're viewing is really just using the scene to show us what's going on in a given character's head.
So the question.
I don't know if real people ever do this—sit before a grave and talk to the person interred—but if they do, should we consider them as necromancers, and therefore in sin (even if only by ignorance)? After all, contacting the dead is an abomination, right? "I know you can hear me, Dad! Even though I never really said it when I should have, I'll say it now: you dressed with panache, Dad. You dressed with panache."
Or do we consider these sorts of things just to be extension of imagination. Like talking to unicorns. Or the person who just cut you off on the freeway.
God's Blogs Horrifying? A Response to Lanny Donoho
One of the difficulties of the present era arises from the egalitarianism of the published word via the world wide interthing. Due to the ability for everyman to publish anythought with little to no real effort, the gulf between author and critic is no longer a gulf. Really, it's not any space at all. And more, this diminishment of critical space does not apply to professionals and professionals alone; now, the masses and all their indelible hyperbole are just as easy to find as the opinions of valid and accredited critics.
Hence the fact that I still get people stopping by to marvel at my slightly belligerent comments towards Tim Keller and his vision for Redeemer Presbyterian Church a couple years back. And to further illustrate the point that the distance has closed, Keller and I engaged in an email correspondance shortly after the post was written by which I came to understand better his position on the matter.
The gulf has closed again and Lanny Donoho has written to inquire of the reasons behind my rather short treatment of his book, God's Blogs: Insights from His Site. To be fair, my negative opinion couldn't even be considered a critique. It was short, gave little information as to the impetus behind my aversion to his book, and was really nothing more than invective. The whole of my comment was this: "God's Blogs: it's really a horrifying little book."
Donoho stumbled, somehow, upon Nowheresville.us and commented:
hey...was just wandering thru the blogosphere and noticed that you were horrified by my book.
Was wondering what caused that?
Lanny
Though he wrote his question days before Christmas, I just noticed it a few days ago (since I rarely check old posts for new comments). My first reaction was genuine pity: "Ohh, poor guy!" I can imagine how it would feel to read that some stranger found the product of your labours to be horrifying. My next reaction was to brush it off—after all, those who publish should be ready for criticism and unkind words, even when they (like my comment) are entirely devoid of contructive information. My final reaction was probablythe only worthwhile one of the bunch.
I decided that rather than either pity a dissed author or chalk one up to "That's the way it is! Publish and perish!"—instead I would offer an actual critique of the book and my reasons for finding it distasteful and, yes, horrifying. What follows are my words to Lanny Donoho.
Dear Lanny,
I'm glad to have the opportunity to explain the reason for my reaction to your book. Most of my readers, being familiar with my pattern of thinking, could probably guess as to why your book wouldn't appeal to me, but as I think there are important things to be said, I'm gald to be able to take the time and explain myself more carefully.
First, let me be plain in that I bear you no ill will. It is your book that I did not like, not you. Further, I'm certain your motivations for writing God's Blogs were pure and that you approach the project with the best of intentions (both in conception and implementation). The source of my issue and the reason I could consider the entire book horrifying is in the underlying assumptions it makes. The easiest way to say it is that I think that at some point you were taught a mistake and that this book is the fruit, in part, of that mistake.
I like that you want to make the wonder and beauty of God accessible to this blogging generation. I like that you care how God is represented. I like that you don't want God to be seen as dull or boring and that you emphasize him as the creator of all the things in which we take joy. All those things are great; it's the mistake that haunts the promise of the book.
So then, the mistake.
Without all the big words and the technical ins and outs, it is a mistake to believe that we can put words in God's mouth. God is very particular about who he is and how he is represented. Men have died at his hands for representing him poorly—despite their good intentions.
The children of Israel wished to worship the divine King who had brought them out of Egypt. At Sinai, Aaron the high priest takes their gold (which their gave charitibly for the cause) and fashions a representation of God: a powerful, bronze calf. A representation of God's strength and might. "Behold O Israel, the God who brought you out of Egypt!" Worship and sacrifice ensue. At the cost of three thousand lives (it would have been more had not Moses intervened on their behalf).
The prophets of the OT would prove their inspiration by being 100% correct. Every time. If they failed they were to be executed at God's command. Not because they were wrong. Not because they mislead God's people. Simply because in choosing to speak for God, they misreprented him. God exalts above everything his word and his name. For finite, fallible, fallen man to speak for God—to put words into his mouth—is to invite horror.
God may be merciful. Or he may not. It is a troublesome thing and one that should invite us to caution.
I think you may be a part of that generational tradition that, while seeking to remember that God is loving and gentle and merciful, forgets that he is transcendant and awesome and to be feared. This is the common way for those of us who wish to correct the errors of our fathers. In reacting against perceived ills, we take things too far in the opposite direction. One of the hallmarks of many of the current burgeoning Christian traditions is a propensity to familiarize God to the point that his terrifying majesty, holy dignity, and other-worldliness are sacrificed to humour, fun, relatability, and whimsy. And I think your book does.
I don't think you necessarily sacrifice half of God's being purposely. But out of negligence or out of zeal for communicating this particular aspect of him (for God is both relatable and the Lord of fun and whimsy), the end result is the same. A misrepresentation of God. And therein lies the horror of which I spoke.
Essentially, the book you've created is a product of your imagination, a presentation of your opinion. I don't believe there is anything necessarily wrong with saying, "I think God would act like _____." What God's Blogs does, however, is go a step beyond. I realize that the reader is supposed to imagine your text as being from God—not really being from God actually—but the effect is too similar. I find this laxity in approaching and representing the divine to be discouraging. Despite intentions, it lessens who God is.
I'm sorry to say it and sorry to be such a critic, but as I said, these are not small matters.
Yours, in our Christ,
The Dane
So right off the bat, I'll mention the game that might get me into the most trouble. So let's get it out of the way by saying that despite the salty content (and occasionally because of it), San Andreas is an amazing game. It's rare that a game can be as open to different playing styles as this is and still stay fun. Immediately upon playing, I diverted from mission-oriented play, abandoning the story and spending at least my first ten hours of gametime riding bicycles, honing my bunny-hopping skilz, and giving people rides in my taxi (that I borrowed to death). Then I decided I'd go on a few missions. Then I rode my bike more and drove a fire engine into things. Then I discvered dirt bikes and Buffalos (Camaro rip-offs). Later, in San Fierro (which is modeled after San Francisco), I took a long time off from any missions so I could jump off basically everything on my crotch rocket, complete driving school, and instigate manic police chases (by trespassing on military property). Then I began tricking out Asian import cars like I was Paul Walker in The Fast and the Furious. I wasn't a fan of the movie but man did I have a good time hitting the nitrous and carreening at top speed into whatever mostly stationary thing I'd eventually hit (usually the ground after falling off a cliff). And later, boats and planes and helicopters. But really my first love was the bicycle and my abiding love was for the dirtbike and the crotch rocket.
I got a PS2 last Spring in order to help me deal with the head problems I had been experiencing. I couldn't sustain focus for long enough to read and even watching movies was taxing - but for some reason, I've never had to concentrate to play games. I got the PS2 because of Katamari Damacy, but after a while I needed more. The second game I got was Dark Cloud 2. This was actually really fun and I would have been satisfied that my purchase of the PS2 was not a poor use of funds. If I had any doubts, they were irrevocably shattered the moment I played my third game: God of War.
If God of War inspired in me a certain bloodlust for a creature beyond common mortality, Shadow of the Colossus kind of did the opposite. The "enemies" of our hero this time out are by and large, majestic, aloof creature who are only roused to violence by the intrusion of a tiny aggressor (you). If even then. I recall taking down one colossus who never attacked me and was in fact so far out of reach that I had to go to extreme measures just to close the distance in order to attack; to the colossus' credit, it never lifted a finger to harm me. Tycho over at Penny Arcade expressed a similar sense of ill-founded wonder: "You're engaged in a series of acts whose moral virtue is by no means assured. The supposed hero is assaulting majestic, sometimes docile, sometimes curious, sometimes sleeping creatures. They're almost all portrayed in a sympathetic light at some point, and it's hard not to feel disgusted at times for iterating Hollow Game Mechanic X by rote without any sense of the moral spectrum the acts inhabit" [associated cartoon] Fortunately, I think that's part of the point.
Katamari was the reason I got the PS2. I thought I was done with console systems. It took the weirdest game I've ever played to bring me back; I mean this thing is weirder than Clu-Clu Land. Rolling over junk, sticking it to a ball, in order to build a new star and therefore move one step closer to recreating the universe? Wow. And a royal dad who talks in recod scratches? Dude. And the little girls you roll over—rather than scream until their bloody, pulpy ends—giggle like they've been waiting for this pony ride since last Easter? Alright then. It's impossible not to be charmed by this little guy, despite the sometimes awkward controls and maybe because of the frighteningly fun soundtrack.
I always sort of liked the idea of the kind of adventure games where you wander around, chat people up, attach parrots to water balloons and use your new invention to unlock the rusted old gate that's been bothering you for hours. However, most of these games have little going for them outside of the inclusion of some difficult/interesting puzzles. Grim Fandango is different. Grim Fandango is the prince of its genre. Grim Fandango will likely never be surpassed, its that good.
Myst was entertaining enough to interest me in a sequel, but really, Riven itched my scratch. The world was gorgeous, the puzzles sensible, and the storyline well-wrought. It continued with most of the conceits of the previous game—point-and-click navigation through largely static screens, lush environs, insane family members of the vaguely self-righteous Atrus, as well as the standard revelation via notebooks, letters, and other errant writing—yet it pumped each of these full of new life. Attention to sight and sound was doubly important in this installment with the better-conceived graphics and ambient sounds that figure into game play. And gone was the repetitive, obnoxious gimic of collecting pages for burnt-out books—which really only served to force each player to wander back through puzzles after they had already been solved. Essentially, Riven takes and magnifies the best of the genre while leaving behind the dross.
I had been introduced to first-person shooters on the PC by Unreal Tournament (and by Golgo 13 on the consoles)*, which was more fun than I could shake a stick at. This was mostly because if I had taken time to pick up a stick, I'd get fragged with my butt sticking up in the air. Yet as fun as I found Unreal Tournament, I was missing the story-element that drew me into my favourite games. So much so that I even downloaded the partially completed, fan-devised, single player scenarios that were downloadable like maps and mods from places like Planet Unreal.
I had always hesitated to indulge in the RTS (real-time strategy) craze. It always seemed, I dunno, pretty nerdy. I had played Shogun: Total War due to my affinity for the period of history and I had been known to try my hand at Axis & Allies, but it still wasn't enough to sway my resolve. Thank goodness for playable demos.
When I mentioned before that I wasn't a player of real-time strategy games, I lied. I was a Populous fan. You may remeber the game: you are a god and your goal is to have your followers convert (i.e., destroy) the folowers of the "evil" god, along the way assisting by perpetrating acts of god (volcanoes, floods, earthquakes, etc.) upon your enemy's worshippers. I loved playing that one on the SEGA Genesis, but Populous was nothing for me when compared to its prequel which would come out years later—Populous: The Beginning.
When Sierra was preparing to release a new RPG, a sequel, it put up for free download, its prequel, Betrayal at Krondor. While the sequel never really happened, not in the way it was imagined (the game became an uninspired and unrelated RPG with a similar battle system called Betrayal at Antara), the real joy was to be found in the primitive, 10 MB game I downloaded.
While Half-Life really did the trick of breathing life into me so far as fps was concerned, sating my thirst for story to go along with my fragging, Counter-Strike returned me to the fold, forcing me to again engage online foes. I was first introduced to the terrorist/counter-terrorist match when a friend who worked the network hub at a local UC would let three of us in during the after hours and our quartet would host a game and play through DE_Dust, CS_Office and CS_Italy. We would play long into the night, causing ire in girlfriends and wives. It was perfect.
I was never sure which I liked better, Unreal Tournament or Counter-Strike. If Counter-Strike had featured CTF (capture the flag) matches, I don't think I would have had much question - but oh CTF how I loved you. I think that in the end I had downloaded perhaps up to fifty different CTF maps, playing them each time after time after time. After time. Hall of Giants, Horus, Twin Valley, Warlords—these (amongst others) were the fraglands and the places I loved.
While Grim Fandango was the best of the interactive adventure games out there, DOT was yards funnier. It was just plain nutty. And honestly, that's the way we likesed it. Time travel, ambulatory severed tentacle, mad scientists. This was the stuff dreams were made of. Alas, it's one of many of my games that won't quite run on Windows XP. Curse you DOS. Curse you into an eternity of curses. Or maybe its XP that should be cursed.
As recently noted, WoW still has its claws in me. Which, all things considered, is pretty surprising. I know you doubt me, but it's true.
It was the grue, really. Coming face to face with that terror more times than I can imagine, we eventually became friends.
In 1995, Virtual World amazed me. A place built out to look like a 19th century explorer's club kluged together with duct-tech and labcoats, Virtual World was, if anything, an experience for me. Essentially, the explorer's club was a front for groups of eight control pod/cockpit thingies that were networked together allowing up to eight people to play a single game simultaneously. Probably not such a big deal now with MMOs being the order of the day, but in 1995? I mean BLINK hadn't even been declared evil yet. As well, the control pods featured fifty or so buttons, switches, sticks, and throttles (all of which were fully functional) with which more advanced players might romp.
Board games? Yeah, I've played board games. Kinda dry don't you think? Sure, they can be fun a few times—maybe a good diversion for the kids. But not really anything I'd care to spend any real time with... and even though there's games like Risk out there, there really isn't anything that mixes strategy with accessibiliy, is there?
You know? I've never played Risk. It always looked so... I dunno, "not me." I have, however, played Axis & Allies and when I was first introduced, I hedged saying, "I dunno, it looks like...well, like Risk." I was assured that he didn't know what I was babbling about and that I should sit down and learn while he set up the board. Seven hours later, I was in love. The funny thing is that setup and gameplay take so long that I never actually really get around to playing. Except sometimes on my computer version.
As a pre-NES youth, this was the board game that ruled the fun centers in my mind. It took brains and intuition and was as enjoyable as any game I played until high school graduation. I also liked that one player is pitted against four others and attempts to outfox them. Genius.
And speaking of genius, even from junior high, my favourite game to play with adults was Trivial Pursuit. Not anything gimmicky like Star Wars or LOTR Trivial Pursuit. Those were for hapless geeks. No, this was the real thing. I rarely won, but the emphasis on knowledge was a refreshing outlet for me—as smarts in my circles was a social detriment. But here, on that freaky wheel with those freaky pie pieces, knowledge was cheered. It was here I could let my hair down. I still love the game, though it isn't remotely as popular now as it was in the '80s.
Every major holiday, we would head up to my grandma's house up by Disneyland and after the chatting and the eating, out came the games. The thing was, grandma was a word person. A cross-puzzler. Therefore, her games reflected that love of hers. Fortunately we avoided tired old games like Scrabble in favour of newer items like Boggle, Big Boggle, Upwards, and Scategories. I really enjoyed most of those but Boggle was a special favourite. I never beat either my grandma or my mom, but I had a blast trying.
Now Scattergories, that was a game I was surprisingly decent at. The level of abstraction was just potent enough to fuel my mind and power it into organizing extraneous information according to first letter. Strange sort of game that really champions mental organization over smarts or skills, but it was much enjoyed by my family in those days.
Admittedly, I don't really have all the rules and strategy down pat, but for a game with all this potential, I gotta admit to excitement. And it's two player. How many good games are for two players. I was never a chess fan, and checkers is pure boredom. Othello is cool and backgammon is a passing interest. But go? Classic! And it's even got a move called "Atari" that predates Atari by a millennia. Talk about the opposite of kitschy!
Yep. I played the Devil's Game all through fith, sixth, and seventh grade. That's 1985-1987 for those in the know. I recently saw the game for sale in Borders the other day and was honestly shocked. I had no idea that it was still around. I knew there were probably some fanatics who were still deeply involved, but I didn't know the depths to which the game was entrenched in contemporary geek culture. I thought stuff like Magic and Warhammer and WoW and whatever had drawn away its once sizable audience. I was wrong.
Oooh... one bump of the table could ruin a whole game. Still, a five player match of Chinese checkers offered its own brand of frenetic inaction. It wasn't particularly fast paced, but one unexpected move by someone on the other end of the game could completely change any planned strategems in an instant. Another game in which I was less successful than my opponents. My brother, while visiting a few years back, played on Yahoo games for a number of weeks and racked up like 180 wins to 1 loss. Something like that. I still like the game though.
As far as party games go, this one's my fav. It's kind of like a cool version of Balderdash, but instead of working with strange words and their definitions, it's international proverbs. A game card will provide the first half of, say, an old Spanish saying: "Long live the . . . " and it is the players' task to write up a believable conclusion to the saying. Do-gooder? Good wife? Nomad? Unclean? Nope, the answer is "Salt shaker." I laughed a lot when playing this the first time. I had as much fun writing up riduculous sayings as I did guessing which was the real one (a la Balderdash, one answer is always the right one).
You remember that game labyrynth? Where you have the marble on the maze with holes in it? And you have the little controls to affect the tilt in order to spare the marble from the holes? Yeah, me neither. A game like that would frustrate me. Unless it was Run Yourself Ragged.
I'm hoping to have part two of my game list up tomorrow, but it's a lot of writing so we'll see. I'm about halfway through with it. But that's good see? I'm finding things to occupy me so much that I don't have time for... well, for World of Warcraft. I successfully jumped ship in April and got back my life. In order to make my fourteen bucks a month worth it, I felt I had to play lots. And lots. Now whether that was true or not, I was spending the bulk of my evening late hours tromping around Azeroth being all stealthy and roguelike. Cuz really, what could be better, huh?
In any case, I dropped my subscription and began life as a free man. But now, almost a year later, I feel like one of the children of Israel, wandering in the wilderness outside of the promised land. I look back at Azeroth and think about how I had it so good. I was nearly to level 50, had a just-peachy black steed, and was proud to have soloed almost my entire way through. It all seems so fun inretrospect and I miss it. I even miss the fishing and skinning - that's how bad its gotten.
And so, to keep myself from diving back into the deep end of the pool and picking up again in the Stranglethorn Vale, I choose instead to plunge into writing—reviews, lists, whatever. We'll see if it lasts...
Subscribe to
Posts [Atom]
